


Finding Magic

by CaiyaAmatista



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Car Accidents, Coma, Comfort/Angst, Decapitation, Descent into Madness, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Drama, Family Loss, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fear, Friend in Danger, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Medical Skills, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Promises, Protective Jefferson, Punishment, Recovered Memories, Sad Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Storybrooke, Strangers to Friends, Wonderland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-14 04:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaiyaAmatista/pseuds/CaiyaAmatista
Summary: While imprisoned in Wonderland, Jefferson was assigned an apprentice, one forced to bear witness to his gradual descent into madness. After regaining their memories in modern-day Storybrooke, Jefferson seeks her assistance yet again in his quest to be reunited with his daughter, but ultimately discovers that sometimes, magic has a way of finding you instead...





	1. Prologue: Awakened

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how this one will be received, but when you have an idea, you just have to go with it. ^_^ Cheers!

_~Storybrooke~_

Her hands were shaking uncontrollably upon the desk, trembling breaths passing through her parted lips as the mental images continued to wash hotly over her.

Oh…my God…

It had started as nothing more than a brief glimpse, something she'd dismissed as a mere fanciful thought as it faded quickly from her mind. But then came another image, followed by another. And then another. Another still. It didn't take long for her to realize that these were not simply random thoughts invading her psyche: they were full-blown _memories_. Memories of a life she'd long-since forgotten, but now rushing back to her with such unrelenting force that she could hardly remember how to breathe.

No, her mind whispered. No…

There was no stopping them. Not the images; not the pain; not the incessant burn that was gradually rising within her chest and consuming all of her senses.

I…remember.

And then her eyes glanced down at the file in front of her, and she felt her throat seize up. Her palms flattened against the desk's smooth surface. Scanning the notes scrawled in her penmanship, she took in the details she'd written about one of her most perplexing medical cases; the man who was in her office at least twice a week, if not more often seeking her assistance. A man she could never seem to refuse whenever he asked for her help.

**HARRIS, JEFFERSON,** the label on the file read.

Not my patient, she thought in shock. He's not my patient. Dr. Lydia Warner felt the sting of tears behind her eyes as her heart clenched painfully. I remember…

_Off with his head!_

Hearing the loud slice in her mind, she stood abruptly, knocking her chair to the floor with a loud thud. Luckily, she was the last person left at the clinic, so the noise went completely unnoticed. Releasing a shuddering breath, her vision momentarily blurred before two tears slipped down her cheeks.

I remember _everything_ …

She choked on a gasp when her cell phone vibrated loudly beside her hand, her heart automatically pounding beneath her chest. Picking up the device with a shaking hand, she glanced at the display screen and felt a sense of dread fill her stomach when she recognized the number. She swallowed, trying to take a steadying breath. It wasn't unexpected, but…

Accepting the call, she brought the phone to her ear and breathlessly wheezed out, "Jefferson—"

"You remember," he immediately responded, though she didn't miss the slight quake in his deep voice. A voice she knew all too well. "Don't you?"

So she wasn't the only one. Closing her eyes, she conjured the will to whisper, "Yes."

_TBC..._


	2. A Fate Worse Than Death

  ** _~Wonderland, 30 years ago~_ **

_She didn't know how long she'd been down in the dungeon. Days? Weeks, perhaps? Hard to say without being able to see sunlight through a window, but there were none in the stone walls surrounding her. It mattered not, though. Clara knew she would never leave. No; the Queen of Hearts could have easily beheaded her and put her out of her misery, but instead she'd locked her away in the dungeon. A place for those confined to darkness and condemned to be forgotten by the rest of the world. To never see daylight, nor know the company of others ever again. Even now, the steady_ drip, drip _of nearby water was interrupted by the distant wails and pitiful cries of other prisoners as they called out for their friends, their loved ones, their families…She felt her heart break, listening as their echoing cries continued to haunt her ears. There was no comforting any of them._

_She tightened her arms around herself. This was her punishment; this was the price she paid for her role in the failed revolt against their merciless monarch._

_The throw of the heavy bolt caused Clara to snap her head up, and the sudden illumination from two burning torches made her squint and shield her eyes. As her vision adjusted, she became aware of the two guards pulling open the barred door. She sighed, thinking they'd come to provide her with her measly rations for the evening, but when they both entered the cell, she cowered against the far wall._

" _Come along, girl," the closest guard said, reaching out to grasp her arm, "it's time."_

_Time? She thought as both guards hoisted her to her feet. Time for what? Time for pain? Time for death? But her silent queries went unanswered as they dragged her through the long stretch of corridor, their torches casting an orange glow upon the stone walls flanking either side of them as they navigated their way through the darkness. At times, her eyes flicked to the shadows they created on the walls, catching glimpses of the occasional prisoner peering through the barred doors. Some cried out as they passed by, but their words gradually faded as they continued on, and she released a shuddering breath. This was the first time she'd ever been removed from her cell since her captivity began, and with the growing sense of dread spreading from the pit of her stomach, she could only assume the worst was about to come. Tears fell from her eyes, so warm against her chilled skin._

_My fate, her mind whispered in defeat._

_Turning a corner, they began ascending the narrow steps of a stone staircase, and when they reached a hallway at the top, her brow automatically furrowed in confusion. At the end of the hall, she thought she detected the faintest of hint of illumination cutting through the dark, not from torches, but…from a room. She closed her eyes, thinking it must have been her imagination, but when she opened them again, the light remained. Not a trick. And it was then that she made out the outline of someone standing near the doorway as they approached._

" _Clara Forsythe," a gasp caught in her throat, recognizing the unmistakable voice of the Knave of Hearts. "For the crime of high treason against the crown, Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of Hearts, has finally determined a suitable punishment for you. And I think you'll agree: she has been quite merciful in her decision this time."_

_Merciful, she mentally snorted. Who knew what her definition of_ merciful _could possible entail? Squinting against the light, she looked up at the queen's devoted orator, and as his features came into focus, she was reminded of how much she despised that look of perpetual smugness on his face. Forcing her lips to move, it took a couple of tries before she finally found her voice. "And what…am I to do?"_

_She didn't miss the way the corner of his mouth ticked upward in a slight smirk. "An opportunity has suddenly arisen," he turned and entered the room, "that will allow you to employ the skills that warranted your arrest in the first place."_

_Warning flared within her heart, and it was then that she detected the faint sound of weeping coming from within the room. She swallowed, a feeling of uneasiness enveloping her as the guards led her in after the Knave…_

" _My body! Give me back my body; I need my body! Please!"_

_Clara's eyes went wide, gaping in horror at the sight before her. The screams hadn't come from her, or the Knave, or the guards at her sides…but from the severed head the Knave was holding up for her to see._

" _Ahhh! Who are you?" It screamed at her. "What do you want?"_

_She gasped harshly, her knees nearly giving out beneath her, but the guards held fast. Despite being detached from his body, that head—that man's head—was very much_ alive! _Staring at her with wild blue eyes that seemed so full of terror and anguish that she found it impossible to look away._

" _Get away!" He continued to shout. "Get away from me!"_

_She wanted to scream, but couldn't. Beheaded. This man had been beheaded, and yet he still lived. Fates! Her mind hissed, feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes once more. What dark magic is this?_

" _Miss Forsythe," the Knave spoke, "welcome to your new quarters for the duration of your sentence."_

" _Get away," the man demanded again, though she didn't miss the way his voice cracked. "Just give me back my body. Please…" And then he closed his eyes as he succumbed to weak sobs._

_She drew in a quiet, trembling breath. It was such a gut-wrenching display of sorrow that Clara felt two tears slip from her own eyes. For a moment, she forgot about her horror, forgot about the Knave's words regarding her sentence…"Why," it barely came out a whisper, "is he still alive?"_

" _So that he may serve out his own punishment."_

_She snapped her head up to him, stunned. "And what exactly was his crime?"_

" _This intruder was apprehended following a theft from the queen's vault, and she finds this penalty to be more fitting than death."_

_Gawking in disgust, she slowly shook her head. "She is barbaric—"_

_Without warning, the Knave used his free hand to slap her hard across the face. Clara's head jerked to one side, holding her breath against the stinging pain in her cheek. It hurt, but she forced herself not to make a sound._

" _It is not in your best interests to insult our glorious queen," the Knave warned, "unless you'd prefer to have your tongue cut out in retaliation."_

_Releasing a cough, she drew in a long breath and exhaled heavily._

" _He claims to have come to Wonderland by means of a magical hat," the Knave continued, and Clara lifted her eyes to look at him once more, "and if he ever wishes to leave, he is to replicate that very hat in order to transport himself out of here." It was then that she noticed the long stone table behind him, and the headless body lying upon it. "Until he does," he set the head on the table next to the body, giving it a patronizing pat, "he's to remain here."_

" _Get it to work," the man's head rasped, "but there's no magic. No magic…"_

" _And that," he pointed a finger at her, "is where you come in, my dear. Since he will need his body back in order to complete his task, it will be up to you to sew his head back into place."_

_Her stomach plummeted to the floor. "What…?"_

" _Come now, you are trained in the healing arts, so this should be well within your skill range."_

" _I…" Her mind was reeling from his proclamation, and as her eyes darted around the room, they widened when she remembered his earlier words._ Welcome to your new quarters… _"You…s-said I am to stay here? Even after my task is done?" A slight panic welled within her chest. "W—why?"_

_Once again, he seemed to smirk. "The queen always makes sure that her punishments are well-understood by her prisoners, and she is particularly interested in making sure both of you truly understand the consequences of your actions against her." He turned back to the table. "As such, your abilities will not be limited to this one instance."_

_Numb. She went completely numb as comprehension dawned on her, and as the guards finally released her, her arms flopped uselessly at her sides. Not limited…to this one instance…_

_When the Knave turned back to her, she saw that he was holding a spool of thread in his hand. "You have all the materials you'll need here. Now," he held it out to her, "put him back together, girl; that is your task."_

_No, she wordlessly shook her head. No… "Please," she wheezed, her eyes pleading as she looked up at him, "don't make me do this."_

_He arched an eyebrow, and then he was kneeling before her, his face void of any emotion. "This is not a negotiation, Miss Forsythe; this is a direct command from the queen. You_ will _perform the task that is appointed to you, or your refusal will result in both your hands being cut off at the wrists." As her jaw dropped, he grinned mockingly, holding up the spool before her. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"_

_Paralyzed with disbelief, Clara could only stare at him mutely. Stay…here. Forevermore to this…this…existence? She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to lash out at him in any possible way, but…Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, ultimately resigned to her fate as she reached out to accept the spool from him._

_There was nothing more on the matter. Without another word, the Knave and the guards left room—the cell, not just a room—slamming the barred door shut behind them with an icy_ chink _. Clara was left alone, frozen to her spot on the cold floor._

_No, not alone. Not ever again. For upon that stone table was the lifeless body of a man, and right next to his shoulder was his severed head, staring back at her with eyes that were very much alive and aware of his surroundings. Waiting for her to fulfill her gruesome duty to re-attach him to his body._

" _Get it to work," he repeated, tears forming in his eyes again. "I have to get it to work..."_

_Clutching that spool of soft thread to her chest,_ _Clara let her head fall into her other hand as she began to cry._


	3. Stitches in Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did change the title of the previous chapter, just because it made more sense with this one. Cheers!

_**~Storybrooke~** _

Even though she'd already put the car in park, Lydia couldn't bring herself to relinquish her vice-like grip on the steering wheel. Had it still been daylight outside, she was sure her knuckles would have been white from the pressure.

Breathe, she kept repeating to herself. Just breathe.

Turning to look out her window, she felt her stomach sink at the imposing sight of the dark mansion she was parked out in front of. Yes, a mansion; one of the few mansions standing in all of Storybrooke, and this one was home to none other than Jefferson himself.

She swallowed thickly. I shouldn't be here, she told herself. No matter how much he'd insisted on the phone earlier, she never should have agreed to come over.

But then a voice seemed to whisper to her from out of nowhere:  _Who else do you have?_

Closing her eyes, she released a long slow breath. It took a while, but her hands finally began to relax on the wheel, and she reached down to switch off the ignition at last. Stepping out of her car, Lydia lingered beside it a moment longer before shutting the door and walking up the stony drive.  _316_ , the bronze plaque read on the stone pillar she passed. The last home on the edge of Farley Street. So many times had she driven by this property, silently in awe of the massive Tudor-esque structure: the tall windows; the steeply pitched roofs; the elaborate stonework of the lower level; all of it suggesting a style from some sort of bygone era, one that never failed to impress her no matter how many times she laid eyes on it.

Seeing it up close like this at night, however…something about this place just seemed so unreal to her. Almost frightening. As if the faint glow from the upper windows gave the building eyes that were watching her raptly as she approached. An involuntary shiver prompted her to cross her arms over her chest, but she forced her apprehensions aside as she ascended the brick steps of the porch, coming to stand before the ornately carved double-doors for what felt like an eternity.

Enough, she told herself. Exhaling steadily, she lifted a hand to knock on the—

She bit back a gasp when one of the doors flew wide open, revealing Jefferson on the other side. She stared, her heart thrumming even faster beneath her chest. His was a face that had haunted the thoughts and dreams of both her lives, and despite some of the modern changes in his appearance, those piercing blue eyes were just as captivating as ever.

"Clara," he said—

—but she swiftly raised a hand to silence him. "Please," she rasped, "that life is behind me now, and I'd rather keep it that way." Then she felt something strengthen inside her as she told him, "I prefer Lydia. Please."

For a long moment, he just stood there silently, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that caused her to squeeze her jaws together. But then he was tilting his head as he simply responded, "As you wish," then stepped aside as he made a sweeping gesture for her to enter.

After a brief hesitation, Lydia stepped through the doorway, very aware of his proximity as she brushed past him. As she crossed into the foyer, however, she blinked, coming to a halt as her eyes slowly scanned her surroundings.

"Oh," she breathed, but barely a sound escaped her lips. It was the first time she'd ever set foot inside his home, and aside from some of the elaborate decorations and furnishings she saw…it wasn't what she was expecting. At all. Usually, such large structures had high ceilings and a vast, cold openness that made them feel akin to a museum, but not this place. The low ceilings, muted lighting, thick carpeting, and rich colors of the damask wallpaper gave it a warmth that she hadn't anticipated from a mansion. So much…cozier, the word came to mind. It was, in truth, a very pleasant surprise.

The audible  _click_  of the door closing behind her broke her out of her reverie, and in the ensuing silence, she could sense Jefferson drawing nearer.

"Tea?" He inquired tersely.

"No," she replied quickly, turning to him. "Thanks, I…" The words died in her throat as her eyes locked with his. He was so close, and despite her nervousness, she couldn't help but let her eyes drift over him, noting how his overall appearance reflected the environment in which he now lived. His immaculate suit had obviously been tailored to his form; the brocade vest and silk scarf were no doubt worth more than everything she owned in her apartment; the intricate stitching of his Italian leather shoes; the glint of the signet ring on his finger; the fresh scent of his cologne; even his dark hair—once thick and unruly—was now short and styled in a way that allowed her to see his entire face. No longer the impoverished man she once knew from Wonderland, but someone who exuded wealth, success… _power_.

She cleared her throat. "You, um…you've certainly done well for yourself here."

He gave a humorless laugh. "Have I?"

Not even a hint of a smile had touched his features, making him appear as coldly handsome as ever. And yet…there was something shimmering within the depths of his icy eyes, a fathomless sorrow that had her heart clenching in pain.

Alone, she lamented silently. He's been here all alone…

Not a word passed between them, not even when she lifted a hand to reach for the scarf around his neck. There was no objection from Jefferson, who tilted his chin up just a bit as her fingertips pulled the silken material down…revealing the smooth scar encircling the entirety of his neck underneath. Her lower lip quivered as she released a trembling breath, and the telltale sting of tears caused her vision to blur as memories of long ago began to wash over her once more…

_**~Wonderland~** _

_Despite the incessant churning of her stomach, Clara managed to push her revulsion aside, her hands steady and sure as she continued working the curved needle through the man's flesh over and over again. Regardless of the horrific circumstances, he was her patient now, and her primary objective was to make sure he received care that he needed. She was keeping the stitches small, ensuring that the resulting scar would be as thin as possible when she'd finished reattaching his head to his body._

Put him back together _, her mind whispered as she pulled the thread through once more._ That is your task…

" _Get it to work," he kept muttering to himself, "I gotta get it to work…"_

_She paid him no mind as he rambled on about things that made little sense to her, the words fading in her ears as she continued to focus on her work._

" _Grace; Grace is…waiting for me. I have to find her. I…I promised…"_

_Hearing him say that, however, was what had her heart breaking for him. She didn't know who Grace was, but judging by how he talked about her, it was clear that she was someone he deeply loved. Friend? Lover? Family? All she knew was that she was someone dear to his heart, and he was fated to never see her again._

_But that was what the Queen of Hearts did best, wasn't it? Tore families and loved ones apart without any shred of remorse, and doomed them to an existence that left them forever shrouded in hopelessness._

_Clara gritted her teeth against the burning pain in her chest. Damn you, she thought, damn you for everything you've done…_

" _You have to help me."_

_It took a moment for her to realize that he was addressing her directly, and her hands stilled as she looked up at his stricken face._

" _My Grace; I have to get back to her. You have…you have to put me back together."_

 _I'm trying, she thought, drawing in a slow breath through her nose. Those eyes…they were so strikingly_ blue,  _even in the dim light of the room._   _Though they were swimming with a myriad of painful emotions, she found herself completely transfixed by the way those shimmering blue orbs were focused on her. Deep down, something told her she'd never be able to forget them._

" _Grace," he choked out as his eyes pooled with tears. "I need my body back. Please. I need…I…I need…"_

_She placed a hand on his shoulder—a light touch, but one that automatically quieted him. It was hard to say if he could actually sense the contact in his current condition, but the healer within her felt an instinctive need to provide him with some form of comfort, no matter how insignificant it might seem._

_I'll help you, she vowed silently, pulling the needle through once more. In any way I can…Part of her still couldn't fathom the cruelty of it all: re-attaching a living head to its corpse, only to further subject him to torment and humiliation? Would he even regain mobility, or was this all just a twisted ploy to get his hopes up? What was it he'd stolen from her vault to warrant such a punishment? And what would become of him if he somehow succeeded in his task? What…would become of her?_

_But she shook the thought from her mind. Finish the task, she told herself as she completed her final suture. Just finish the job at hand…_

_Snipping the thread with her shears, she closed her eyes as an unmistakable rush of magic passed through her, like a warm wind rippling through the vastness of the stone chamber—_

_She gasped in shock when a hand suddenly seized her throat, and before she could even react, her back was slammed up against the nearest wall. A jolt of pain shot through the back of her skull, making her see a bright flash of white behind her closed eyes._

" _Ahh…" She managed weakly, feeling the pain gradually fade to a dull throb. When the worst of it had subsided, she peeled her eyes open, taking in the sight of the man—no longer a decapitated corpse on the table—standing before her as those blazing blue eyes bore into hers. She didn't dare move, but while his hand was firmly grasping her neck, it wasn't enough to completely constrict her breathing._

_For what felt like the longest minute of her life, he maintained his hold as his eyes continued to search hers. "Clara," he finally breathed._

_Hearing him utter her name had her eyes widening slightly._

" _That's what the Knave called you," he said._

_She couldn't even blink as she stared at him, but then she was slowly nodding in reply._

_As he clenched his teeth beneath his cheeks, the hand around her neck blessedly loosened a bit. "Your shears."_

_Not a question, but a command, and it only took a moment for her to realize that she was still grasping her shears in one hand. Any other time, she might have used them as a weapon in self-defense, but…Without a word, she carefully lifted her hand to offer the shears to him, and he finally released her as he accepted them. Clara coughed as she brought a hand to her throat, trying to ease the pounding of her heart as he inspected the sharpness of the twin blades. While he did, her eyes caught sight of the freshly stitched line surrounding his neck, and her vision began to blur with tears._

" _I need material," he finally said, lifting his gaze to hers._

_Feeling two tears fall down her cheeks, she pointed to a table on the far side of the room, where several piles of neatly folded fabrics were already waiting for him._

" _Get it to work," he muttered under his breath before turning to go to his table. Clara sagged against the wall as he walked away, letting herself slide to the floor as she watched him reach for the fabric at the top of one pile. "I've gotta get it to work…"_

_**~Storybrooke~** _

It was Jefferson's hand on her wrist that drew her out of her thoughts.

"You should proud of your handiwork," he said flatly, "it's kept me together after all these years."

She stared, then blinked slowly, not surprised when she felt the warmth of tears spilling from her eyes. His hand was still holding onto hers, his grip firm yet gentle.

Then she saw the barest flare of his nostrils as he exhaled. "Come with me," he rasped, his hand sliding from hers as he turned and headed for the nearby staircase. There was no hurry in his step.

Watching him ascend the stairs, Lydia contemplated the notion of bolting out the front door, but at the same time…

Sniffing quietly, she wiped away her tears.  Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around herself before following him up the stairs. 


End file.
